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Tren Reaver
Name: Tren Reaver Age: approximately 21 Country: Saldaea Eyes: dark brown Hair: Black Height: 6’2” Weight: 190 Weapon: stiletto knife Outstanding features: a scar from hairline to jawline just missing his left eye Description Despite a long, jagged scar on Tren’s face, no one would glance at him twice if he was the only other man in an otherwise empty room. He is the type of person that one would forget immediately after he was out of sight. Or, at least he was. His eyes now look like they belong on a dead man. His entire face is gaunt and prematurely aged. He moves as if expecting to die. As if he wants to die... Occasionally, he can be seen talking to the air around him, his two ‘friends’ from the Black Tower. Tren wears a long, black coat, black breeches, and black boots, all of which are so worn from wandering that they’ve lost all warming and protective value. He is malnourished partially from his life wandering, partially from a steadfast refusal to eat, something that is very recent in the happening. He has nothing to live for, anymore. Even his two ‘friends’ have abandoned him. All he has left is a touch of madness and the longing to die. Character History (Told in first-person) You’ve been following me ever since I left that last village, good sir. You might as well come closer. Its not like I care anymore. There, that’s better. Now what is it you want? ---- You want my story? You want to know why I am the way I am? We’d best sit down; this will take the better part of an hour. Besides, maybe I’ll be lucky enough not to rise again... As they announced at the flogging post, my name is Tren Reaver, formerly of Saldaea and that Black Tower that I’m sure you’ve heard of. Which means, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, that I am a male channeler. Or rather ‘was’ a male channeler. That’ll come later. Anyway, I was born into a minor noble family whose name I have since left behind me. I grew up with the typical noble’s education: some of the Old Tongue, the running of an estate, a little of the sword. One afternoon as I was surveying my father’s estate in my 19th year, some bandits came upon me. As I began to lose hope that I would ever escape them, a bolt of lightning struck from the clear sky, killing most of them and burning the others too badly to follow. I believe my parents suspected that I could channel, but when I fell ill a few days later, they knew for sure. I was banished under pain of death into a world where I was despised and feared with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small knife. And saidin. Sweet, tainted saidin. What little good it did me, most of the time. This scar is a failed attempt to defend myself with the One Power. My wandering led me through many small villages and a few cities, none of which I stayed at for long. Inevitably, saidin would come upon me, and somebody would die or a house would catch fire. I knew that I had to find help. That was when I found the Black Tower. They took me in, clothed me, fed me, and showed me how to harness my gift. I was willing to do anything to learn how to do that! After I had been banished, I had sworn vengeance upon my former family and the town they called home. Gradually, I developed my skill, taking up the stiletto as well in order to protect myself when I couldn’t use the One Power openly. Life was good. Even when I began seeing things, people... But I’m not mad. They, too, abandoned me. Then it happened. One day, during my regular training routine, my great gift, my tool of revenge, was stripped from me. I misjudged myself and burnt away my gift. The agony, the depression. You have no idea what its like. Life in that instant became drab and dull. The world is without compare when you hold saidin, the power to destroy a city, at your command. I left immediatly. The look of discomfort was still clear on many faces. I reminded them of what they could lose. That day is the day I died. And that was about a year ago. At first, I cried out, begging the Creator to show me why he had taken my life in such a painful manner. When he remained silent, I sought my own answers... Wait. If the Light has abandoned me, why do I still seek to walk in it. If its turned its back on me, then I’ll return the favor... Until I die, that is. Until I die. ---- On the road out of a small village in Murandy, two farmers noticed a ragged man sitting at the base of a tree, talking to the empty spot on the ground next to him. The next moment, he had a thoughtful look on his face, and he started to chuckle, then to laugh. “Isn’t that the guy they flogged in the village for claiming the Light was a fickle mistress and that it eventually abandoned everybody?” “I don’t see anything. Let’s move on... quickly.” Category:Congress of the Shadow Bios Category:Biographies